Purpose In All Things: Your Move
by whovianbard
Summary: Jack's dead...again, and Ianto is trapped in the dark with something large, winged and lethal. Just your average Torchwood day then... Part of the Purpose In All Things AU. Most definitely Janto.


**Disclaimer: I don't own anything in the Who-verse. That honour belongs to RTD and the mighty and glorious BBC.**

**Authors Note: This was a little something that sidetracked me when I should have been writing the next chapter of my Blake's 7 story Legacy. Sorry Jay, I hope this makes up a little for the wait for chapter 19.**

**My thanks to Orion Lyonesse for her fabulous beta skills.**

**This story is part of the Purpose In All Things AU series and is set about six weeks after the end of Purpose In All Things.**

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><p><em>Where the hell was it?<em> A chittering sound off to his left gave him his answer, although given the echoing, cavernous expanse of the abandoned warehouse in truth it could have been anywhere.

Ianto eased his Glock from the waistband of his suit trousers at the small of his back, releasing the safety catch with a soft reassuring click. The gun might be considered old-fashioned, but Ianto trusted the mechanical action of a semi-automatic over one of the new electronic pulse pistols which UNIT were so proud of. He slid down the wall of crates at his back, feeling the weave of his jacket catch on splinters of unfinished timber, until he was crouched low to the ground, his hunched frame presenting less of a target in the dim light cast by the single cracked and discoloured overhead skylight.

At his feet was the motionless body of Jack, pale blue eyes staring sightlessly up containing an expression of shocked surprise, a broad pool of blood puddling beneath his neck and shoulders, a thin bloody weal scarring his neck from ear to ear. With one hand Ianto reached down, his fingers expertly probing the edges of the wound. They were already healing, the edges puckering with new skin growth. In less than ten minutes Jack would be on his feet again, hale and hearty, as Ianto's grandmother used to say.

Which meant he had ten minutes to put this thing, whatever it was, down.

One thing was for sure, it wasn't the Weevil they'd been expecting. Not unless Weevils had suddenly evolved iridescent leathery wings and a sinuous whipping tail, sharper edged than a surgeon's scalpel. That was as much as Ianto had seen as the creature had dropped on them from the darkness moments before, the lashing tail slicing into Jack's neck, dropping him like a stone.

The chittering sound came again. Ianto closed his eyes, concentrating on the direction of the noise. It was circling, high above. _What is it waiting for? _Ianto wondered, not daring to look above him. _Could it be waiting for me to make the next move? _He turned the Glock over in his hands thoughtfully. The light wasn't good enough to ensure he'd hit it first time, and if he didn't hit it first time he'd be dead. To be fair, he didn't even know for sure that it was hostile. OK, yes, it had killed Jack, but they had stormed in, sending the door banging into the wall with the noise of a small explosion. It was a move intended to startle Weevils out of whatever cover they were hiding behind, but this time they had startled something else. And not everything that came through the Rift was intent on destroying the human race. Most things, he had to concede, but not all.

Carefully he stood up, keeping his back to the wall of crates, no point in tempting fate after all, and made a show of tucking the Glock back into his waistband, this time just over his right hip, leaving his hand resting lightly on the grip. Taking a deep calming breath, at the same time reflecting that this might be the last breath he ever took, he squared his shoulders.

"Er, hello?" he said hesitantly, his voice echoing like a roll of thunder in the cathedral-like space. "I'm sorry if we startled you. My name is Ianto Jones and I represent Torchwood." Technically that wasn't true, Ianto realised, for the last month and a half he'd officially been Ianto Harkness-Jones. It was a title he was still getting used to, giving him a kick every time he used it, yet constantly having to remind himself that it was actually true, that he and Jack were actually married.

The chittering sound was interrupted by a low hiss, reminding Ianto of a sharply indrawn breath through gritted teeth. In the semi-darkness he smiled with an expression Jack would have labelled smug – if he'd been alive to comment.

"Ah, you've heard of us," Ianto continued, keeping his voice level and businesslike, ever the diplomat. "Do you have the means to communicate with us?"

The chittering ceased, leaving a sudden eerie silence which set the hairs on the back of Ianto's neck on end. Then there was a heavy beat of wings and a soft thud as the creature landed a few feet in front of Jack's body. Ianto's finger tightened around the butt of the Glock but he examined the creature calmly in the dim light, trying for an air of dispassionate interest.

The creature was easily over eight feet tall and insectoid, as he had suspected, but bipedal with four further limbs creating two pairs of arms, for want of a better word, extending out from shoulder and chest height. Each limb bore a number of joints which Ianto surmised would allow the limbs to bend into seemingly impossible configurations. The head was ant-like in appearance, a deep mottled purple covered in short stubby bristles, the mouth hidden behind three pairs of pincer-like mandibles. Two compound eyes, set far back on the creature's head, gave nothing of the creatures emotions or intent away. The wings, which Ianto had only caught a glimpse of before, were a spectacular display of iridescent blues, greens and purples which seemed to shimmer as they moved. As he watched they folded back under a sleek black carapace. Ianto eyed the tail warily but it remained inert, curled around the feet of the creature.

"Torchwood." The word was a whisper, but not said aloud. Ianto stumbled back a step, banging into the crates. The whisper was in his inner ears, like the buzzing of tinnitus. He shook his head as the word was repeated.

"You're telepaths?" he questioned out loud, wondering whether he should have thought the question instead.

Again the whisper. "No, we cannot read your thoughts, Torchwood. We can only project our own at a frequency which your brain can process into recognisable sound forms." There was a pause. "We have killed your mate. This was not our intention. It is most regrettable."

Ianto mind latched onto one word. "We?" he said slowly.

"The Terr'axi." This time there were half-a-dozen voices in Ianto's head. As they spoke there was a flurry of movement above him and a chorus of soft thuds as six more creatures landed, forming a semi-circle around him.

Ianto swallowed, hard. Seven giant flying ants versus one Glock – and maybe Jack's Webley if he could reach it – those were not great odds. He swallowed again, his fingers gripping the butt of the gun, ready to draw and fire in a single motion.

"Why are you here?" he asked, berating himself for the faint tremor in his voice he was unable to hide.

There was a sudden burst of chittering on all sides. Instinctively he started to draw the Glock from his waistband but was stopped in his tracks by the Terr'axi's reply.

"We are, how do you say, on holiday? We were told that parts of Earth are very beautiful and contain many of our kind. We appear to have miscalculated our landing co-ordinates. Please, can you tell us how to reach..." There was another pause and dialogue of chittering. "...the Amazon?"

Ianto sagged against the crates with a relieved laugh.

"You're tourists?" Ianto slipped back into diplomat mode. "You are aware that Earth is a Class 5 planet that has had only limited previous contact with non-terrestrial species?"

"We are," came the whispered reply. "It was not our intention to visit areas of human habitation, merely to visit with our brethren on your world."

Ianto nodded, pulling out his datapad from his inside suit pocket. Entering the Terr'axi details, he read back the report called up from the extensive Torchwood and UNIT archives. It seemed the Terr'axi had been frequent visitors to Earth in the past, the teeming insect life of the Amazon and Indonesian rainforests proving an irresistible draw. Each time they had been encountered, they had been sent on their way and had left without a fuss, proving themselves to be a peaceful race. The last visit had been over eighty years ago during the Second World War. Times had changed since then.

"That shouldn't be a problem," he said finally, flashing a smile at them. "Providing you stay away from human habitation and do not damage any plant or animal species you encounter."

There was a sudden cacophony of excited chittering at his pronouncement.

"Thank you." A chorus of whispers rang in his head.

Then the chittering ceased and one of the Terr'axi to Ianto's right stepped forward its head cocked to one side with an almost dejected air.

"I must surrender myself to your justice." The single whisper sounded identical to that of the first Terr'axi that had spoken and Ianto realised that to a human all Terr'axi voices would be indistinguishable, a single frequency processed to exactly the same pitch and cadence. He looked down at Jack; the thin red line had almost vanished. A minute or two more and Jack would take that first painful, shuddering breath of renewed life.

"How did you know he's my mate?" Ianto asked; the question had been niggling at the back of his mind since the Terr'axi had first spoken.

The first Terr'axi replied, at least Ianto presumed it was since it was to that Terr'axi he'd addressed the question.

"His smell; it is very distinctive. He has marked you as his own."

Ianto coughed uncomfortably. Something to do with Jack's 51st century pheromones no doubt.

The Terr'axi continued, "For his mate, you do not seem concerned at his death." The Terr'axi appeared troubled, the mandibles covering his mouth flexing rhythmically.

Ianto smiled in what he hoped was a reassuring manner. He gestured down to Jack's prostrate form. "This is Captain Jack Harkness..." If the Terr'axi knew of Torchwood, it was a given that they would know of the infamous Captain Harkness, it's notorious, seemingly immortal, leader. They did. There was the same long drawn hiss of breath that had sounded at Torchwood's first mention.

"Captain Harkness will be fine... Captain Harkness-Jones I mean." Ianto blushed a little. "Dying is pretty much a daily occurrence. He'll be back with me shortly."

Although he strived to sound unperturbed for the benefit of the Terr'axi, he knew Jack's resurrections were anything but easy, each accompanied by intense pain and a flood of memories and emotions which threatened to overwhelm him and left him gasping.

"Please don't worry about Jack," he reiterated sensing the Terr'axi who had owned up to killing him was not convinced. "It was clearly an accident. You are free to leave with your companions."

There was a renewal of the chittering sound and then, as one, the Terr'axi bowed low, unfurling their wings and holding them out at full span, creating a breathtaking backdrop of colour even in the poor light.

"We are honoured by your understanding and forgiveness."

Ianto bowed low in response. Straightening, he glanced down at his datapad and reeled off a string of numbers that pinpointed the least inhabited region of the Amazon rainforest.

"If you go to these co-ordinates you'll be fine," he finished. "How will you get there?" He was about to add that he couldn't just let them fly there when there was a vivid flash of blue-green light and the Terr'axi vanished, leaving only a lingering whisper of, "Goodbye Torchwood. And thank you," echoing in his head.

"OK, teleport works," he said out loud, his voice suddenly sounding very lonely in the empty warehouse.

-o0o-

There was a gasp at his feet. Immediately Ianto dropped to his knees, gathering Jack up so that his head and shoulders were resting against him. Jack's body convulsed in pain.

"Hush, cariad," he said softly, stroking Jack's hair tenderly. "I'm here."

He felt the older man relax against his legs, although Jack's breathing was still laboured.

"Yan?" Jack's voice was hoarse. "Jeez, what the hell happened? My throat feels like it's been cut."

Jack pulled himself into a sitting position but didn't pull out of his husband's embrace. These post-resurrection moments of closeness were one of the few things it was actually worth dying for.

"It was," Ianto said with a short laugh. "You got in the way of a Terr'axi tail lashing."

"Ouch, no wonder it stings." Jack rubbed his hand across his neck grimacing as it came away bloody. With one hand Ianto pulled a handkerchief from his top pocket and handed it to Jack who made an attempt to clean himself up. "A lovely race but very jumpy," he continued as he dabbed the pristine white cotton against the skin of his throat, systematically turning every centimetre reddy-pink, "and a hopeless sense of direction. Are they still looking for the Amazon?"

Ianto chuckled. "Yep."

"So, did you send them packing?"

"Nope," Ianto said with a shrug. "Gave them directions and told them to keep out of sight. I figured the Earth could handle half-a-dozen intergalactic tourists."

Jack twisted round to stare at Ianto with shocked incredulity.

"Giant flying ants, Yan?" Then he smiled. "What the hell. In a couple of years it'll be the cockroach invasion anyway." He grinned as it was Ianto's turn to look at him with shock and something akin to horror.

"Just kidding, it'll be ten years at least. Nicely handled, Yan."

"I do my best, sir." Ianto's answering grin was downright wicked.

Jack turned around, somehow managing to end up on his knees, his face level with Ianto's. He dropped a stinging kiss on Ianto's lips. Ianto positively squirmed. Jack grinned wider. "Shall we go?"

"Home or Hub?" Ianto replied, looking at the fading light barely illuminating the cracked skylight above. It had to be after nine. Technically he should go back to the Hub and write up the meeting with the Terr'axi, but the thought of heading home for a lazy meal and a little quiet time with Jack was certainly more appealing.

Jack climbed to his feet, pulling Ianto up after him and, encircling his husband's waist with warm arms, leant against him so that Ianto could feel the heat radiating along the length of his torso. Jack let his hands creep under Ianto's suit jacket, his fingers kneading the muscles of Ianto's lower back with long practised fingers. At the same time he nudged one leg between Ianto's, striving to make his connection with the younger man more intimate. Ianto sighed, leaning even closer into his husband.

"You decide," Jack whispered lazily against Ianto's ear, the words filling his head and making his senses swim. "Your move."

_There's only one move I can make_, Ianto thought with amusement. With a sudden movement he raised his arms, pushing Jack back against the crates, knocking him off balance. When Jack's arms windmilled as he tried to stay upright, Ianto's hands grabbed his waist, steadying him, then burrowed beneath the heavy folds of Jack's coat, frantically searching for heated skin and the waistband of Jack's trousers.

At the same time, he stepped forward, grinding his hips into Jack's, communicating his intent in unmistakable fashion, the intimate movements eliciting a low groan from Jack which was echoed from his own lips. His fingers found the fastening of Jack's trousers and freed it so that it was only Ianto's hips glued to Jack's which kept the material round his waist. With a grin of pure wickedness he pulled a hand free, pushing it down between them, his fingers flexing against the heated, surprisingly soft skin of Jack's stomach, working their way slowly down to where he knew the skin would be softer still. Jack's breath hitched in his chest as Ianto's fingers found their destination, skimming lightly and teasingly for less than a second before returning to the safer ground of Jack's stomach. Ianto heard his name released in a gasp of frustration and in response his lips fell to Jack's neck, just above his shirt's blood stained collar, his tongue laving the soft, salty skin that carried just the hint of the iron tang of the blood that had so recently been shed there, obliterating the evidence of this latest death. He smiled against Jack's neck as he felt Jack shudder with desire, an answering ripple shaking his own frame.

His move, his decision, that was what Jack had said, and never had he been so certain of what he wanted. Lifting his lips to Jack's ear, his fingers starting their descent once more, this time pushing the trapped material down, exposing Jack's heated skin to the cool night air, he breathed,

"Most definitely here."


End file.
